


Purple

by WritingForTheRevolution



Series: Shades of You [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Colors, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingForTheRevolution/pseuds/WritingForTheRevolution
Summary: Wealth, wisdom, royalty, power.People are shrouded in purple.





	Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's only been a month. I'm actually trying to stay on top of this series. I love it so much.
> 
> As always, this will make more sense if you start at the beginning of the series.

Purple.

It was the deep shade of the wine that his parents drank during the holidays, the color of the mountains as the sun dipped behind them. It was the diluted color of the medicine he took when he had a cough, and the soothing burn he felt when he swallowed. He saw it splashed across flower petals in the spring, inside the eyes of determined spirits, and shadowing the dark streets of the city.

James had thought of it as a quiet color, but that wasn’t always true.

It was the feeling, the extravagant color that exploded into his life when he met Thomas.

It was the sarcasm that dripped from the man’s words when he spoke, the color that James associated with his southern accent. It showed up in his actions, his movements, and his most obnoxious clothing.

It was a confident color—mostly Thomas’s color—but sometimes James felt it too. He felt it when he wrote, when he talked about something he was passionate about, and when he debated and won. He felt it on his good days, the days when he thought he was doing okay, but he felt it most when he was with Thomas.

Thomas gave him good days.

Thomas was the center of the color, the center of attention, the source of everything even slightly tinted that particular hue. He was confident, outspoken, loud, and sometimes annoying, but the color was always there, always a part of him. It was the color that defined him, and the color that grounded their friendship for years.

It became the color that bled into James’s life, slowly, and then all at once.

It was the color of the feeling James got when Thomas announced that he would be studying abroad in France for a semester, the color that wanted Thomas to stay and the color he shoved to the back of his mind. This couldn’t be the color that held Thomas back from things more important than James; his insecurities, shrouded in the color, were insignificant compared to Thomas’s confidence.

The color was gone from every second of the time he spent alone, as if it had followed Thomas to France and integrated itself into the opulence of the city of love.

It was the excitement he tried and failed to contain when Thomas finally came back, and it was the confidence that poured from him even as his shirt slipped to reveal the color fading from the skin of his collarbone, evidence of his promiscuity.

It was the jealousy that James definitely did not swallow back as he offhandedly asked Thomas if he had had fun.

It was the shade of the night sky as James stood on the balcony, escaping the copious amounts of the color inside from the party that Thomas insisted on throwing, the color that floated across the room, through the crowds of people, and into their conversations. It was the color of the untouched drink that had been pressed into his hand some hours before, it was concentrated in the small burst of noise he registered when the door opened, and it was in the air that surrounded Thomas when he walked out.

It was the color that tinted the soft words they exchanged, the scent of the cheap alcohol on their breath that could only have come from a college party. It was in the cloying fragrance of Thomas’s cologne, and the tint of the bottle James knew he kept on his dresser. It was the shade that clouded Thomas’s eyes as he moved closer, the gentle pressure of his fingers on James’s wrist, the feeling of the hand on his waist, and the wings of the butterflies James felt in his stomach when Thomas pressed their lips together.

It was the shock he felt once Thomas pulled away, and the color that tinted the smirk the man sent in his direction as he turned around and walked back inside. It was the stillness of the air as James stared after him, listening faintly to the buzz of the party inside, and it was the unexplainable sadness he caught on Angelica’s face when he glanced to the side and saw her standing there, staring at the place where Thomas had disappeared into the crowd.

It was the color that seeped into his thoughts the next day, the color that told him that Thomas was drunk, that the color in their kiss didn’t mean anything. It was the doubt that encompassed his mind every time he thought about it, and the color he forced himself to ignore in favor of the small bit of hope he was determined to hold on to.

It was the way his breath caught in his throat and the shivers he felt beneath his skin whenever Thomas touched him for the next week. It was the confusion in Thomas’s eyes when James asked him if he remembered anything from the night of the party, and it was the beat his heart stopped on when Thomas said no.

It was the color of the reassurance he mumbled, the color of the lie that slipped so fluidly yet so heavily off his tongue when he told Thomas that he hadn’t done anything stupid. It was the confusion in the look his friend gave him, and the relief he felt when Thomas didn’t question him.

A week later, it was the emptiness James felt when Thomas suddenly started avoiding him, and the anxiety that pooled in the pit of his stomach as he tried to discern what he had done wrong. It was in the looks Angelica kept shooting him during class, and the grip of her hand on his arm when she pulled him aside to tell him that she told Thomas what happened at the party.

It was the burst of panic in his chest when her words finally sank in, when the weight of the color settled over his shoulders. It was the anger he felt rising in his chest as he tore his arm from her grasp, the building anxiety that reminded him why he hadn’t told Thomas what had happened. It was the pain in her eyes when he looked back up at her; whether it was from the knowledge of her mistake or something else, James didn’t know, but he didn’t really care. She had taken the color, the one he had carefully accumulated from small bits and pieces, and she had torn it away, leaving him with both too much of it and not quite enough.

It was the slight fear he felt when he realized that he would have to at least see Thomas again at the movie nights they were always invited to, the nervousness that assaulted him when he thought about what he would say. It tainted every word he thought up in response to those worries, and it was in each one of those words he threw away when he asked Thomas why he hadn’t seen him in a week.

It was the way his stomach dropped when Thomas muttered that he had a migraine.

It was in every question that came to his mind, every _what if._ What if Thomas regretted what he did? What if he kept ignoring James? What if he didn’t see the color the same way James saw it? He pushed the color away. He didn’t need it clouding his thoughts.

It was the color of the low energy in the room when Alexander and John and Hercules didn’t show up that night, the questions he perceived at the front of everyone’s minds; the questions no one voiced. It was the lack of energy in the mumbled excuses as everyone left, and it was the tremble James felt in his hand as he grabbed Thomas’s wrist before he could leave. It was in the words that tumbled from his mouth and the desperation in his tone when he pleaded, _can we talk?_

It was the awkward silence that enveloped them as they made their way through the dark streets, the sound of their muffled footsteps when they walked up the stairs to Thomas’s apartment. It was in the breath James took and exhaled, and it colored every word he spoke.

It was the color of the first apology that fell from his lips, the one for not telling him what had happened at the party. It was the color of the second apology, the one for kissing Thomas and letting Thomas kiss him. It was the color of the confession, the one he wasn’t planning on acknowledging, the one that slipped out covered in the color and then…

There was no going back.

It was the surprise that flooded Thomas’s eyes as James stared at him, the surge of words that stuck in his throat as he tried to explain what the color meant to him, tried to explain that it was fine if Thomas didn’t see the same color; he didn’t have to see the same color.

It colored the rush of words that Thomas tripped over, the anxious look on his face when he told James that he saw the color too, and James could see in his eyes that he wasn’t lying.

Later, it would be the heat of Thomas’s breath on his neck and the color of the small bruises that Thomas’s lips left on his skin, the ones he covered with high-necked shirts and long sleeves. It would be the color that took a while to come into his life. It would become a color he felt more often, in himself and not just around Thomas, but at that moment, it was enough.

It was the light color that surrounded the cuts on John’s wrists, lines where it looked like he had pressed a blade, and it was the tired color that hung under his eyes when James caught his gaze. It was the frozen energy in the room when Eliza entered with a girl she introduced as _Maria, my girlfriend._ It was the way John froze in his place beside James before he got up and walked past Eliza, and the weird, bitter spark between Maria and John when he brushed past her in the doorway.

It was the color of each syllable in the softly spoken expletives Herc breathed out before he raced after John, and it was the confusion that pushed itself to the forefront of James’s mind when he looked around at the others, as if the color would give him an explanation.

It was the shock that hit him when Eliza finally told them what happened, and it was the lost, conflicted expression on her face when she mentioned her girlfriend. It was all the reassuring words James wanted to tell her, and all the ones he didn’t.

Months later, it was the color of the energy surrounding the child in John’s arms as he introduced them to his daughter.

It’s the color that James sees between John and Alex, careful yet confident as they try things again. It’s the color of doubts, yes, and their friends share those doubts with John, but even if that color could mean mistakes, James doesn’t say anything. It’ll turn out okay.

It becomes the color that he and Thomas share, the one that means something special to them, the mixture of two other colors that combine fire and calm. It’s the one that picks him up on his bad days and pushes him further on good days. It’s the one he’s glad exists, the one he needs, sometimes, to know that Thomas wants him. It’s Thomas’s color, but it’s James’s color too. It’s their color, the color of everything they’ll accomplish.

_Together._

**Author's Note:**

> Color @blazingstarininkyblackness


End file.
